1. Sirin #3
As she passed through the emptying hallways, she nodded to people she knew but she never really saw them.
Sirin grimaced to herself; she knew what they would see.
Silly Sirin, always seeming to not quite fit.
Her deep brown hair would surely be escaping her braid, she'd have ink smeared across the tanned skin of her nose, her brown eyes would appear unfocused on her surroundings.
The image wasn't entirely inaccurate, but it was also an image she'd cultivated.
No one took her seriously, not anymore. So no one much cared about what she did.
She hoped that meant it would be a good while before anyone noticed her missing.
Her path forward was clear. When confronted with the end of her life, professionally and literally, Sirin found she was still driven to search for her answers. If that was the cost, she was willing to pay it.
Ducking into her room, she pulled her travel pack from the wardrobe and laid it on her bed.
She didn't have a suite of apartments as other lunologists who lived at the Citadel full time might have, but she'd inhabited this room each time she'd stayed at the Citadel for a visit and it was allocated for her use alone.
Smiling sadly, she looked around the room at all the small touches she'd made to make it feel more like home.
Vibrant tapestries woven in the intricate geometric designs of her homeland covered the stone walls and diffusers scented the room with mango and calamansi oils.
Nearly every surface was littered with the small artifacts she'd gathered in her travels.
Her living wagon was much too small for much clutter, so she'd kept such things here, the only permanent residence she had.
Sirin lingered over the collection of treasures she'd accumulated over the years, filling her shelves between books.
She had a small model of a theoretical vehicle, powered by lunula instead of steam, created by a friend from Meurteau.
Its tiny gears and the shine of lunula from its holding tank had always brought a smile to her face, even if the design had been a failure in the end.
There were carved figurines of mythical creatures, her own fantastical menagerie symbolizing the folklore of each place she'd stayed.
She ran her fingers over a fierce-looking dragon who she'd positioned to breathe fire over a snarling orc.
A great man-bear hybrid stood roaring on its hind legs, a myth from Pershing, the Northernmost town on the continent.
Sirin smiled and pocketed it, thinking she might even check in on the little old lady who had told her such a tale when she gathered supplies there in a few days.
Picking up a small porcelain toilet, she chuckled.
That particular invention had spread far and fast. The first time her friend had spoken of it had been with such fervor.
It'd seemed too good to be true. No more covering excrement in sawdust or using latrines a hike away to hide the stench.
She set it back on the shelf, sad to leave the toilet behind but spending a bit of lunula to ensure the memory stayed fresh.
And books. So many books. Children's books from home, stories about people who looked like her, in a place that felt familiar and had kept her company when she felt alone.
She brushed her fingers across the spine, grateful she had the tales of foolish men with coconuts and boys who turned into stone tucked safely away in her mind.
The shelves housed rare copies of works that held the hints which had sent her on her path of discovery.
There was an entire shelf dedicated to books on manners from different countries of the world, which had eased her way into foreign spaces during her travels.
They would, she realized, stay here; a museum of her life.
Until this evening, she'd assumed she would go, gather research for a few months, and then return home to the Citadel to write a paper on her findings.
Or she would go off on another trip to chase down a colleague or a lead.
Perhaps, she'd imagined, she would decide to settle near the source once it was located, but such a possibility had always assumed she would first return home triumphant.
She'd share her findings and potentially invite others to join her before she settled there.
Now, none of that was guaranteed or even likely.
With it went her secret hopes of a partner.
Sirin had harbored the dream that if only she were vindicated, one of her casual acquaintances might take her seriously and a relationship might blossom into something beyond the casual assignations to which she'd grown accustomed.
Perhaps had she stayed in one place, had she known anyone who wasn't a lunologist, she might have had a chance at something real.
Instead, she'd focused on her work to the exclusion of all else, and now, it appeared it would stay that way.
Perhaps I'll tame a gaggle of Arctic animals and start a herd.
I suppose I have been on the path to eccentric hermit-lady for years anyhow, I might as well embrace it.
Whatever happens, happens. Though it stung to realize, more than she wanted to admit, she'd been raised to deal with the hand life dealt her, so there was no use fretting over it.
After several hours of packing, re-checking her supplies, and ensuring the waterproof coverings were secure on all the books she'd bring, Sirin crept out of the building under cover of night.
13 The massive castle that was the Citadel was cold and dark.
The gas lamps no longer lit the corridors with a cheery light, a sign even the staff were asleep.
Sirin used some of her lunula to enhance her eyesight, ensuring she wouldn't need to dig her lantern out of her pack.
When she was a girl, she'd been no stranger to midnight creeps through these halls, but she no longer had the paths memorized, the Citadel changed so rapidly that even her mental maps couldn't keep up.
She was a grown woman, and no one would normally question her moving about late at night, but it was decidedly abnormal for her to carry a gargantuan traveling pack through the halls.
Anticipation bubbled inside of her, making her stomach flip-flop wildly.
Eventually, she made her way to the carriage house, where her horses waited alongside her living wagon.
Butter's creamy coat stood out against her brother Biscuit's, which is what had initially drawn Sirin to the pair.
They were a stocky, hearty breed with thick necks and a pronounced darker stripe down the center of their manes.
They'd no longer get adorable patterns clipped into them, but they'd been foaled at the Citadel, so they'd receive the best care regardless.
As she approached, Butter lowered her head to sniff Sirin's hair, and Biscuit, as per usual, cracked open an eye, annoyed to be roused from sleep.
Sirin giggled, the familiar feeling grounding her before the giggle caught in her throat, constricting it into a muffled sob.
There was no way they could come on this journey. It would simply be too cold, and she refused to expose them to the increasingly likely probability of death.
Tears streaming down her cheeks, Sirin pulled a few sugar cubes from her pocket for Biscuit and kissed Butter's warm muzzle.
She'd been saying goodbye to them for weeks and had been breaking down into sobs anytime she thought of leaving them.
''A beautiful, well-trained team like you is a treasure.
They'll take good care of you, my lovelies.
I promise I'll try to come back for you.
'' She choked out, her throat constricting as she tore herself away from them toward her wagon.
She unlocked the door to her living wagon and snuck inside.
The tight confines had never bothered Sirin, and she'd always appreciated the ability to move her home wherever she needed to be.
Having no family to speak of had left her with a preference for drifting from place to place, following the winds of her research wherever they might lead.
Without her horses, there was no way she could bring her small home.
Instead, she removed the small sledge she'd purchased for her excursion and loaded it up with her pack and a few small mementos she couldn't bear to be without.
A small bottle of her father's favorite cologne, which she used as a pomander when she needed to settle her nerves, A book of silhouettes with a page for each member of her family, and her prayer beads.
She'd never been particularly religious, but they were small, light, and felt like home.
Sirin stepped out and added her things to the sledge. It looked shockingly empty, but she would purchase the bulk of her supplies for the trip in Pershing. From there, she would follow the map until she crossed into the uncharted area beyond its edges.
Sirin pulled the sledge away from the wagon, its removable wheels (of which she was quite proud of inventing) rolling silently, and allowed herself a brief moment to press herself to Butter's warm side.
She breathed the familiar sweet scent, all warm hay and earthy goodness, her chest tight with the pain of leaving them.